Oh there’s satisfying food, offered mainly as small plates with unthreatening Eastern condiments. Through a Plexiglas wall you can see the kitchen innards - chef de cuisine Ben Lieberman’s domain.

Burlap's executive chef is former “Top Chef” finalist Brian Malarkey. You might even catch him checking on his sophomore restaurant. (Searsucker was first. San Diego’s getting Gingham, Gabardine and Herringbone next — see the pattern?) When Malarkey greets Burlap patrons in his red Dickies coveralls, smartphones are unholstered for the photo-op.

But the four-month-old restaurant’s greatest selling point is at being a sexed-up, ultra-lounge for an older audience. It’s not just me: Burlap is age-and-sex aware. There’s “natural Viagra” on the fan-folded menu. (A quickie shooter of roe, raw quail egg, oyster and uni, served in a martini glass.)

On weekends, when it’s rough getting a prime-time dinner reservation, a seasoned North County crowd squeezes past doormen and stands around two prominent bars in tight skin and pressed sportswear.

The "whole snapper 'angry,'" on the Burlap menu. The fish was just changed to striped bass to reflect the change in season.— Chantelle Marie of Chantelle Marie Photography

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The "whole snapper 'angry,'" on the Burlap menu. The fish was just changed to striped bass to reflect the change in season.
/ Chantelle Marie of Chantelle Marie Photography

When you go (spoiler: I’m recommending that you do, it’s fun), make at least one lap through the lounge area with low-slung couches. Fight through that impasse near the main bar, past mismatched tables and chairs in the dining room and that wraparound patio in need of more protective bamboo and frosted glass to hide it from El Camino Real’s clamor.

You’ll naturally be logjammed by the hand-carved wooden patio bar.

Have a breather with a cocktail like their sake-based Shanghai Mule. Take in the décor — Asian period drama (Chinese dragon heads, area rugs of Silk Road-looking provenance) meets warehouse chic (exposed beams, 9,000 sq. ft.). But if you feel inspired by the restaurant’s evening DJs, do not attempt a spontaneous twirl. A 40-something I might file under "cougar" did, took a tumble, and she ended up by everyone’s feet.

The food: “Top Chef” Brian Malarkey revives Asian fusion, uses unthreatening Eastern condiments and ingredients for a menu mostly devoted to small plates. Gluten-free menu and chopsticks available, but you have to ask.

The scene: Middle-aged North County scene provides some of the best people watching on weekends. $4 valet.

About the menu: Just when I thought the Asian-fusion concept was abandoned to those P.F. Chang’s woking up beef and broccoli in malls, Malarkey and Co. try Asian fusion at the Del Mar Highlands Town Center strip mall.

Except Burlap is being marketed as “Asian Cowboy.” Probably because to most foodies, Asian fusion means overpriced American fare with hints of East Asia for an audience not really comfortable with Korean, Japanese or Chinese food.

The lime hoisin, a sweet Chinese barbecue sauce you’d have with Peking duck, is served in a ramekin for dipping. People who want salad dressing on the side eat this way. The chicken (breast with wing, leg with thigh) drips with its own juice over red and Napa cabbages tossed (tossed!) in a lax ginger aioli. It’s a play on the Chinese chicken-salad formula, sans fruit, and well suited for a quiet picnic. (Speaking of calm, the lunch crowd is chatty, but un-twirling; the doormen are off duty.)

Get a $7 side added on to your entrée like this garlic Chinese lo mein noodles dish.— Chantelle Marie of Chantelle Marie Photography

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Get a $7 side added on to your entrée like this garlic Chinese lo mein noodles dish.
/ Chantelle Marie of Chantelle Marie Photography

I’ve had more dynamic Burlap dinners, which always start with complimentary, vinegary carrot and daikon radish spears, not bread.

To fill up, you’re encouraged to order throughout the night, and you will, because entrées don’t come with set side dishes.

Among the $7 sides you add on, I salute the springy, salty, oven-roasted mushrooms (shiitake, hon shimeji, cremini) and could be tied up for weeks near a savory supply of the garlic Chinese lo mein noodles. I say skip the Brussels sprouts with sausage, its Thai-style dressing (fish sauce, lime juice, brown sugar) and overzealous application of heat disguise all vegetable characteristics. (“Those could be corn husks,” a companion sniffed.)

Of the small plates I tried, the salmon belly is like drinking a bucket of fatty fish oil. The sweet potato fries are journeymen, qualified to be something shared and dipped in ginger aioli. Burlap’s tender 6-ounce beef cheek — braised and glazed in a ginger black-bean sauce — would beat any short rib in a food rumble, though.

The raw hamachi with jalapeño is also good: Even with an onion-ponzu sauce, it’s a mouth-refreshing twist on yellowtail sashimi. After all, chef Lieberman worked at LA’s Japanese restaurant, Katsuya.

The kitchen missed the temperatures on two beautiful cuts of meat one visit, though. The pork "porterhouse," a chop with tenderloin, was overcooked; we requested medium-rare prime sirloin and got something like steak tartare.

Because Burlap’s menu is written cryptically in playful Brian Malarkey-speak (recent example: “snapper whole ‘angry’”), your waiter is like a nighttime hiking guide. They know these woods (and make good pairing suggestions from a big wine list). Let them advise you.

And I highly recommend that whole, fried fish, served angry with serrano peppers, garlic, basil and Sriracha hot sauce erupting down its sides. It’s mounted upright, is held to the oblong plate with mashed potatoes, and has “eat me, if you dare” attitude. That snapper was the most awesome plate I lucked into over four visits. (It just changed to striped bass to reflect the change in season.)

The communal table at Burlap, chef Brian Malarkey's new restaurant in Del Mar.— John R. McCutchen